Page 5 of Christmas in Comets Valley
I’d always suspected these apps were listening in on my conversations based on theconvenientlytimed advertisements that popped up mere hours after I’d mentioned something in passing, yet knew for a fact I’d never looked up before.
Seriously, how else would they have known I was looking for a vacation rental? It was just plain creepy.
I perused through the listings on the site, slightly disappointed at the abysmal selection there was to choose from. Most of the houses were fine, but I didn’t wantfine. If I was going to abandon work for the better half of a month, I wanted the place to be perfect.
A gag nearly escaped my lips when I came across a listing which required the guest to share a bedwiththe homeowner. It also didn’t help that the lister’s profile photo resembled a flaccid penis.
A cringe crawled up my spine at the sight. What kind of sick fuck would post that?Reported.
Well, if this idea failed, I could always show up on my brother's door step unannounced. Although, the last time I did that, he nearly had a heart attack at the ripe age of twenty-eight.
Not to mention, Abel played professional football in Miami and Florida wasn’t exactly my idea of a winter vacation spot. And as much as I loved my new-to-the-world nephew, Emerson… I’d rather not spend my time off work listening to him cry and wail between his momentary spats of cuteness.
Not to mention, I already saw the boys and my sister-in-law, Scarlett, last week when they came to spend Abel’s bye week at the beach house.
Well, it was safe to say that idea was off the table.
I let out an exasperated breath and went to exit the website but stopped right before hitting the little red “X” in the corner when a brand-new post caught my attention.
New Listing:
Comets Valley Cottage
The perfect holiday getaway for someone looking to break away from the mainstream of life and enjoy the holidays in a town the Christmas Channel movies could only dream of replicating.
Okay…creepy.
I was, in fact, looking to break away from the mainstream of life, and very much wanted to enjoy a town that looked like it was straight out of a Christmas channel movie.
Were these apps capable of listening in on my thoughts too or something?
Either way, the thought didn’t stop me from opening the notification and perusing through the professional photographs. I had to applaud the lister for not posting pictures which appeared to be taken through a smudged smartphone lense like most of the other listings.
The cottage was a cute, assumedly quaint two-bedroom based on the carousel of images. It had a charming living area and kitchen equipped with modern appliances. But it was the final few slides with images of the town plastered in string lights and holiday decorations that really sold me.
This was exactly what I was looking for.
Thank you internet mind readers.
I clicked on the lister's profile, who thankfully did not have a profile photo of an erogenous body part. Instead, the photo was a simple headshot of a darling early twenty-something girl who looked like she spent her weekends perfecting her sourdough recipe and crocheting pom-pom topped beanies for the local children’s center.
Relief flooded through me when I noticed a bright green dot appeared next to her profile picture, letting me know she was online to chat. Taking in a deep breath, I worked my fingers over the keyboard as I typed out an introduction message.
Aera:Hi, I wanted to see if your house was still available for the holidays? If so, there are pictures of my beach house in Malibu which you’d be staying in.
My housekeeper, Janice, takes care of all the cleaning and if you’re extra nice, she might even cook breakfast for you. It’s not as good as my sister-in-law’s (she’s a chef, by the way), but it’s still better than cooking yourself. I’m not much of a cook… I burned a cup of noodles last week because I forgot to add water before putting them in the microwave.
Was that too much information?
Anyway, I’m normal. Very normal. And clean. Very clean. I promise I won’t burn your house down. The cup of noodles thing was a one time incident, I swear! I also promise I won’t go through your personal items.
I’m just a normal, clean, recovering workaholic who’s looking for a place to relax over the holidays and maybe go to a Christmas parade or two. Let me know your thoughts!
After I hit send,I read my word vomited message,whichwas a grave mistake, and slapped a palm to my forehead as I sunk back into my chair.
I was a complete and utter idiot.
What kind of person told someone they were normal? Serial killers. Serial killers were the kind of people who felt the need to convince others they were normal.
